


The Colors of Her

by flipflop_diva



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Natasha Romanov Feels, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Serious Injuries, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7822177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was his light, his world. And now he was terrified. And worst of all, it was all his fault. (Set somewhere between Age of Ultron and Civil War.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Colors of Her

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meatball42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/gifts).



> Written for Meatball42 as part of the Rare Pairs Fest.
> 
> Meatball42, you had some amazing prompts, but this kind of strayed a little away from all of them. I did try to incorporate some of your likes, though, so I hope you enjoy!

**[Red]**

Red.

It was the very first thing he had noticed about her, all those years before when he first met her, even before he noticed how beautiful she was, how strong she was, how innocent she had seemed. It had been her hair. That fiery red hair, those soft wisps of curls. He really did have a thing for redheads.

She smiled at him, that moment when Pepper introduced her to him — introduced _Natalie_ to him, not Natasha, not the real her — her lips red, her smile warm, her eyes piercing. But it was her hair he noticed.

That part, he learned later, was real. Probably the only real thing he had known about her for months. 

She had red hair.

It was her hair he noticed the next time he saw her, too, after she disappeared back into the clutches of SHIELD, a not-any-longer secret agent who he was more than glad to be rid of. It was short when he saw her then, curlier, but still fiery, and it seemed to bounce in time with her exasperation as they all yelled at each other aboard the Helicarrier, casting words of doubt and mistrust while Loki gleefully took advantage. 

That night, as they ate Schwarma, all of them exhausted, he couldn’t help noticing her hair then too, the way the ends were clumped together from dried sweat, the way she pushed it off her forehead, the way you could barely distinguish the blood on her skin from the strands of her hair.

He still remembered the first time the Avengers had sent her undercover, three weeks after everyone had agreed to move in to the Tower. She walked into the common room, the red gone, platinum blonde in its place. She was still her, but yet somehow she wasn’t. He missed the red.

Maybe because it was who she was.

She was red — short or long, straight or curly, she was the fire of red, strong, burning, intense. He’d never tell her, but he loved her hair, loved the way the sun glinted off of it, the way it curled just so when she didn’t bother to style it. But the memories he treasured the most were from the first few weeks after Ultron was defeated, when he was plagued with nightmares of Sokovia falling from the sky, of the dead lining up to yell at him, to blame him. On those nights, when he tossed and turned and struggled against his demons, she would come to him, just as a friend, slip in bed beside him, whisper in his ear that it was okay, that he was safe, that it wasn’t his fault. He never asked her about her own nightmares, never asked her if sleeping next to him made her feel better too, but he held on to her, took comfort in her breath against his skin. But the thing he loved most in those moments, treasured most of all, was the feel of her hair, the way it felt against his chest, the way the ends tickled him as she fell asleep against him. His fingers carded through her hair then, when she was asleep. Soft and silky and smooth and gleaming red even in the darkness. 

Red. Her red. It was the color he had come to most want to see in the mornings, ever since Pepper had left. She was the one who somehow found out, even though he told no one. She was the one who kept making sure he was okay, making sure he ate, making sure he tried to rest, making sure he stopped working. 

He didn’t know how exactly she came to be his self-appointed caretaker or why she was doing what she was doing, but he knew she was the light in his otherwise dark days. She was the red he wanted to see when he opened his eyes in the morning, before he turned off the lights at night.

Now, though, the red was different. Less fire, more horror.

He wasn’t even there, but it was all he could see. Steve’s words echoing in his ears, a mission he sent them on gone wrong, a mission he had initiated, promised would be easy, gone so horribly wrong.

He held the phone and tried blinking, tried wiping his eyes, but it was no use. It was all he could see. The red, spreading everywhere, covering everything.

So much red.

So much.

Blood.

So much blood.

**[Black]**

Everything felt dark. The room, the world, his heart.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d turned on the lights, if there had ever been lights, if he had ever seen anything but the shadows moving around him, swallowing him whole. Others had tried coming — Clint and Steve and Maria and Sam — offering food and comfort and friendship, trying to get him to leave, to go with them, but he refused, didn’t budge, just sent them away, didn’t want to hear it.

She was Black Widow. He’d learn that the hard way when she plunged an injection straight into his neck without asking before he even knew her real name.

“Do you know who she is?” he had asked Rhodey one night after Natasha’s — Natalie’s — assignment had ended. 

“You know what they say about black widows,” Rhodey had answered. “They’ll eat you up. That’s what they do.”

Named for a spider, an assassin with a black heart, her past dark. She was never meant to love, or to be loved, but sitting here, in the dark, everything in his life feeling bleak, he finally knew the truth. She had never been meant to be loved, but he loved her anyway, despite the danger, despite the chance that she’d only hurt him, despite the fear that loving her was only a trap. He wondered if he had ever had a choice in the matter, if falling in love with her was just something that was always meant to be. Because he didn’t remember it happening, didn’t remember even wanting it too.

But somewhere in the dark days when Pepper had left and in the dark nights when she stayed with him through the pain, it had happened. 

And now … now she was slipping away and it was his world that had fallen into darkness, it was his heart that was turning black. And it was his fault, he had done this, he had gotten the tip, he had shared it with her and Steve, he had promised them it would be fine, he had told them to check in when they got back, he had gone to the lab to play with his suits while they headed out, almost happy and having fun, when there was nothing to be happy about.

And now, if he lost her, if she died, before he told her how he really felt …

He couldn’t bear the thought. He couldn’t bear the pain. He almost hadn’t survived losing Pepper. He couldn’t go though that again. 

So instead of going to her, he stayed where he was, locked in his tower in a dark room, waiting for his silent phone to ring, closing the window shades if any of his staff tried to open them. He didn’t want to see the sun, didn’t want to see the world outside, didn’t want to remember that life was still going on for other people when his life had stopped.

He just wanted to stay there, in the dark, trapped in his own personal nightmare, and wait. Wait for his little black widow to wake up.

**[Green]**

The blanket that was draped over her was green. Not the color of her eyes, but paler, a more faded green than the blankets his mom had used when he was younger. This one was scratchy, too. Rough. It made his arm itch where he touched it, and he found himself wondering if it bothered her, if she maybe noticed.

He held her hand in his, stroking the soft skin of her wrist with his thumb. The bruises were starting to heal, all of them a mottled greenish color now. But he could still feel the swollen skin from the bruise on her wrist, could still see the ugly blemishes covering most of her face.

It’d been more than a week, but she’d fallen almost three stories. Recovery would take awhile, if it happened at all. That’s what the doctors said as they bustled around her, checking IVs, checking her heartbeat, listening to her breathe. They didn’t mention anything about her waking up, but she had made it this far. Surviving the fall and the bullet and the surgeries.

They’d let him see her — made him see her — five days after it happened. Steve and Sam had shown up and not given him a choice.

“It’s not your fault,” Steve said. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have known.”

“But it will be your fault if you let her go through this alone,” Steve continued. “She was there for you after Ultron. She’s been there for you after Pepper. You owe her this.”

“Yeah,” Sam added, “And don’t pretend you don’t love her, because every single person on the team — and probably a lot of people not on the team — knows you do.”

So he had gone, because they were right, and because he owed her, and he hadn’t left her side since he’d arrived. Because she deserved that. So he sat there and he held her hand and counted the threads in the faded green blanket and waited for her green eyes to open.

**[White]**

It was a stupid thing to think about, after everything that had happened, after the time he had waited. But it was the first thought that sprang into his mind.

How white she looked against the sheets in that moment. How her teeth seemed to almost glow when she opened her mouth and tried to talk. How she looked like an angel who had come back to him.

“Natasha,” he whispered before she could get a word out, placing a finger over her lips, trying to indicate she should save her strength. “Oh, Nat.”

He was still holding her hand, the hand he had been holding for the past twenty-six days, but now his other hand was stroking her cheek, her skin so white again his.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. In that moment, she had never looked prettier. Pale and still bruised even weeks later and weak, so much weaker than he had ever seen her, but there was a strength in her eyes and in the way she held his hand, and then she smiled at him and the light in the room glinted off the white of her teeth, and he felt once more like he was looking at an angel. An angel who had come to save him. His ray of light in the darkness of the world.

She had red hair and green eyes and a dark name. But in this moment, he saw none of those things. He just saw hope and light and a future. He saw a ring and a white dress and a baby swaddled in a white blanket. And even if it never happened, even if she never wanted it, he didn’t care. He still saw it, a life that maybe could be.

A life that he had almost lost, a life that he had unintentionally risked.

A tear slipped out of his eye. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Her voice was hoarse, raspy, quiet after weeks of not being used, but he could hear her perfectly.

“I’m supposed to protect you.”

“I can protect myself.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be. I’m not.”

He reached out, touched the red strands he loved so much, peered down at the green eyes that were staring at him so intently, thought about the dark moments of the last few weeks, the hope of the past few minutes. 

“I love you,” he told her for the first time, the words slipping out, as he leaned down to kiss her, softly, gently, carefully. 

“I know,” she mumbled against his lips, and he laughed. Of course she knew. He should have suspected she knew.

So he kissed her again. And then again after that.

She was alive, and she was his, his red-haired, green-eyed beauty. And it was all that ever mattered


End file.
